Sword Spirit's Sacrifice
by Laureen Lycan
Summary: "What was I like?" Fi asked the Demon Lord Ghirahim, searching his gaze.  "Before..." she looked at herself, a robotic figure spewing calculations and analyses. "Before this?" Fi couldn't understand emotions...but she detected one in his answer.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Inspired by Carito-Fox's "Just One Dance." If you haven't read it, I strongly recommend it, as it's not only one of the best Ghirafi one-shots I've read, but almost crucially complementary to this._

_The beginning of this takes place pre-Skyward Sword, immediately after the first time Hylia sealed Demise in the Sealed Grounds._

Chapter One

Fi opened her eyes, a faint chiming noise emitting from the Sword Spirit as she lay in the scorched field, a curtain of misty rain enveloping the remains of the battleground.

Her small blue form glowed dully, and with effort, she turned her head, her eyes glimmering as they found her shattered sword, ignoring for now the backdrop of the dead or dying bodies of her friends and allies.

She felt a deep dread seize her upon analyzing the state of her blade; the sword had shattered upon its successful piercing of the demon. The blade, though strengthened with one of the only two Sword Spirits in existence, had been unable to tolerate the evil it had penetrated during the battle. While the blow was enough to subdue the Demon King long enough for Hylia to seal him in the Grounds, the sword hadn't survived its assault against the darkness.

Pain wracked through Fi's spirit. She knew she was dying.

The battle had been brutal, and victory not without cost, as demonstrated by the fallen figures around the sprite-like figure. The Demon King, a relentless typhoon of hatred and violence on his own, had brought forth his murderous hordes, and together with that sword...

That sword. A pang rang through Fi's remaining consciousness and derailed her train of thought as she recalled her twin spirit, her counterpart. The closest to kin she had in existence. The memory of their last encounter swirled through her mind, which in her final stages, threatened to fade along with her consciousness. She remembered...

* * *

><p>"<em>So surprised, my darling little sister."<em>

His voice teased more than taunted, and the female Sword Spirit repressed a powerful urge to slap that grin off those pale, aristocratic features.

Her anger raged, and she glowed a bright blue with the same swirl of passions she felt upon first learning of Ghirahim's defection from Hylia's army.

He had moved around her in a circle, taunting her with his silence, a graceful dance of diamonds and crimson. Her limbs clenched as she studied his movements.

Abruptly, the small blue spirit disappeared, then quickly reappeared in the demon's path, putting an abrupt halt to his prowling gait. He was thrown slightly off balance, as he had to step back slightly to avoid crashing into her. "May I remind you, we are not blood related," she said crisply.

No, she wouldn't play his game. Not at that moment.

Her expression stared into his, a sea of questions glimmering back at him, demanding an answer to the initial question she posed. Even without her verbal assault upon finding him in the forest glade, he would have known the purpose of her visit. And no...he hadn't imagined she would be ...exactly pleased...upon learning he had lent himself to this new enemy who called himself the Demon King.

The elegantly clad demon stood a foot in front of her, eyes scanning her body posturing, reading her.

His eyes studied hers, and his gleeful flamboyance slowly drained from him, replaced with a confused cocktail of sentiments sifting just beneath the surface. The years and experiences between the two hung thickly in the air dividing them.

A significant second passed. He made a gesture as if to reach out to her, but his hand froze even as his eyes narrowed.

"Our centuries of loyal service have been telling, Fiora... You're a fool to think you'll be anything but a weapon to the Goddess and her dogs," he spat out, using the spirit's full name, his gaze turning sour. The pale demon drew himself up to his full height, tossing his hair to the side and taking a step even closer to his smaller blue counterpart.

Fi held her ground and his gaze, her resolve steeled. She knew him very well, too well to be intimidated by his attempts to cause her discomfort. She could feel his breath, with a jolt to her system, washing over her, and could smell him, that distinct scent that brought back memories, memories...

The biting edge to his voice drew her out of her reverie. With her attention snapped back to the present, she realized the demon had turned 90 degrees so that his tall body practically encased hers, his lips just barely brushing her ear. "You and I have been greatly under-appreciated, little sister." Fi felt sick, disturbed at his use of his oh-so-inappropriate pet name for her in the face of his insinuating actions.

"You and I are the only creatures of our kind in existence..." he let his lithe hand graze down her arm.

"The pair of us unique, powerful, enviable tools that should be exalted in any army fortuitous enough to be graced with our presence."

Fi didn't move, and remained listening to his seductive words, her keen mind quickly assessing the situation, calculating the characteristics, whims, and moods of her companion throughout the years she had known him, and applying them to the treacherous words now being uttered by him.

"With Demise, I'll be more than just a simple tool, a mere pawn of the Goddess like so many who follow her." His eyes took on a near manic gleam, and the grip of his white glove tightened against her wrist. His tone, beginning in an excited, but relatively calm tone, became frenetic, and as he continued, Fi's sense of ill and dread only increased.

"Come with me, Fiora." His voice purred. He was behind her now, and she froze as she felt the familiar touch of his fingers on her shoulder, brushing her neck. "Come with me. Together, we'd make Demise unstoppable, and we'd share his reign in the dark new world he creates." He disappeared, and she felt more than heard the rain of diamonds in his wake.

He reappeared in front of her, pale hand extended towards her. "I'll be his Demon Lord, and you and I will be revered together in the ages to come!"

The manic tone in his voice frightened her, and Fi reacted, leaping into the air and floating back a few feet, the space between them seeming an ocean.

She shook her head, confusion and disbelief affecting her seemingly young features. "How.." her voice stuck in her throat. Gazing at him, the realization of the words he was saying, the imminence of the situation freed her vocal chords in a hiss. "How can you be capable of this?" Her pale blue gaze peered into his, staring past the Demon Lord and into the...counterpart, associate, companion, foil...he had been since they were both born of sword. "After all our years of service, how is it you stand there uttering this blasphemy against the Goddess?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, hand dropping slowly to his pale, diamond-traced hip.

"Demon Lord?" she gazed at him, her petite figure floating up and down slowly, and she took in the crimson cloak, the near-megalomaniac style and aura surrounding him.

Her voice came out crisp, clear, and matter of fact. "All of his actions up to this point indicate that he's simply going to use you!" Desperate urgency brought an edge to her voice. "He's going to destroy this world, and upon its termination, he will cast you aside!"

She floated closer toward him, in a rapid, elegant movement characteristic of the ballet-like dances for which she was famed. She raised an arm, the tremble in it betraying her state of mind. "He's a self-serving, tyrant incapable of mercy or empathy" she continued, words forceful with her disbelief. "And you can forget about your title, your narcissistic hopes for glory, or about whatever it is you think you stand to gain from -"

Her voice was cut off, for at that moment, she reacted to block the ruby-red daggers the demon had flung at her. She hardened her body, briefly changing into her sword form, and with a loud CLANG, the daggers ricocheted off her harmlessly, disappearing in puffs of purple smoke before they hit the ground.

She flashed blue, returning to her anthropomorphic figure.

The demon had his teeth clenched, setting his jaw. "You never did know when to halt that annoying little tongue of yours.." he hissed. His hand, extended threateningly towards her, she noticed, was shaking.

Fi floated back several feet, and she sensed his sudden anger slipping away, replaced by the near-apologetic calm which inevitably followed his sudden, passionate outbursts.

She gazed at him, at this man who she had shared so many memories with, her counterpart whose fate had seemed so inevitably intertwined with her own. She felt overwhelming sadness, feeling him slipping away into a descent of insanity and evil.

"Ghirahim..." she floated, her tone quiet and plaintive. "You're going somewhere I can't..."

She trailed off, hesitating.

"...Please."

The Demon Lord blinked, clenching a gloved hand. Throughout the wide spectrum of their experiences together, he had heard curses, taunting, and many other utterances from the spirit before him in the long ages they've known each other, but never before had he heard... She was now pleading with him, he realized. His nails broke skin, passionate crimson crescent moons staining his immaculate glove.

"Don't do this." Her voice was very quiet, and she still in midair.

Ghirahim watched Fi, the sad expression on her face. She felt a small, yet raw flicker of emotion emanate from him, just for a split second. Her glow brightened hopefully – then his glance hardened, and her heart fell.

"Hmph." He turned his back on her in an exquisite movement, and Fi felt, more than saw the familiar, seemingly self-confident smirk on his face. He gestured back towards her offhandedly, cocking his hip as he stepped forward with dramatic flair.

"You can do what you like, little sister." Fi felt a hopelessness settle, stemming from the knot in her throat.

"Go back to being the Goddess' little lap dog," he continued in that feigned, careless drawl of his.

He disappeared for an instant, reappearing, poised as always, at the top of a nearby tree branch, face toward the sun setting on the horizon. The white demon let out a sardonic laugh. "When Demise obliterates all that is left of her pathetic little alliance, maybe I'll find a place for you under the new regime." He turned his head back at her, his white locks falling over his eyes as his voice turned sickly honeysweet. "I figure it's the least I can do, given our...history...don't you think?"

He shot her a sadistic grin at her pained expression. With that, he flickered away in a reverse rainfall of diamonds.

* * *

><p>A new wave of pain wracked through her spirit, and she turned to look at her body, the sword she inhabited lying, irreparably destroyed, next to the general that had wielded her. He lay dead, but her own spirit still glowed dimly.<p>

A wave of panic began overtaking her. "No..." she thought frantically, clenching her eyes. Her life flashed before her: Hundreds of lifetimes' worth of happy and wondrous experiences, the zipping of water on her feet as she glided above lakes, the clang of metal as she was wielded through epic battles, exploring high forests and deep caverns, singing with the humans, and dancing, dancing so happily with one with features and a countenance so similar, and yet so polar to hers...

"Not yet..." she murmured.

Fi's vision began to darken, and she felt her consciousness fading. _"Please.." _she prayed. _"Not yet. I'll do anything, I just need more time."_

Her vision blackened, and the Sword Spirit's glow began to fade into a dark opaque color. Her eyelids began drooping, and the sounds of the forest, of the movement around her began quieting.

"_Anything,"_ she prayed.

A golden light pierced through the darkness.

Fi recognized Hylia's voice.

"Little sword spirit, unique in kind and character. You were fated to perish in this battle, instrumental in sealing away the spirit of evil. But your pleadings do not go unheard; Sword Spirit, think well upon your request. I can alter your destiny to allow you more time, but this will require the ultimate sacrifice."

The Sword Spirit blinked slowly. The ultimate sacrifice...? What could be worse than death?

She thought back to her fields, her oceans, the ring of metal against metal in battle... And of his smirk, the infuriating way in which he tossed his hair, and way they had been born to co-exist in a dichotomy of compliment and conflict.

"Yes..." she murmured with the last of her strength. "Anything. I just want more time.." her voice trailed off, and her thoughts finished the sentence. _And to see him again._

The golden light intensified, driving away the corners of darkness.

"Very well, Sword Spirit." There was a blinding flash, and all at once, Fi felt her spirit lacerated, disconnected from her dead sword, from the physical entity to which she'd entered this world oh so long ago. She felt vertigo and lost all sense of her physical form.

"You will be part of a great destiny..." the Goddess said. Fi felt the sensation of falling through air, and at once, she saw a sword burst into existence, propelled through the golden light. As she fell, she saw the sword spinning slowly, majestically towards her.

"You will be bound to this sword, a blessed and holy blade, one that was forged to slay and drive away the bastions of evil . Listen well, Sword Spirit. While Demise has been sealed, there will be a time when the bonds restraining him will break... It is then that a hero, chosen by the Goddess, shall awaken. It will be your destiny to aid him in this task."

At the end of this sentence, the sensation of falling ever more quickly came over Fi, and this time, she felt herself propelled into the sword. Her spirit and the sword made contact, and Fi was overwhelmed with the sensation of bonding with the sword, her spirit reattaching itself and settling deep within the blessed blade.

Fi glowed, the dim blue blight illuminating the pedestal in which the sword rested.

"But your sacrifice is a great one. You will be unable to help the hero in your current state; I have re-created your body, and have bonded your spirit to this new sword. The knowledge you carry must be carefully tailored to the needs of the Chosen Hero, and as a result, your memory must be modified in accordance with the task you have been assigned."

_Wait.._ Fi thought... _What..._

"You will remember portions of this battle and its history, but vast elements of your life must be locked away, so that you may focus on the Hero's quest and be a fountain of knowledge for him."

_Locked away... No!_ Fi panicked in the blade. _This wasn't... It wasn't... _

But even as the Goddess spoke, Fi could feel her life slipping away from her, memories of her adventures, of her battles slowly being made unavailable to her, locked behind the Goddess' magic.

"When it is time for the chosen hero to awaken, Sword Spirit, your new destiny will come to fruition. When that occurs, your memories will awake when time and circumstances are appropriate."

Her vision dimmed again, and the images of the stone temple in which she was encased slipped away. Dizzy with ever increasing emptiness, she saw his eyes again, his smirk one last time. _No... _She held onto this last image with all her might, and as she fell into a deep slumber, her last thoughts were of their last dance in the desert, her pale partner leading her as she sang, their movements a graceful, complimentary dichotomy of silent grace and flamboyant elegance.

* * *

><p>Ghirahim stood reeling for several seconds on the top of the stairs facing the entrance into the woods. He had been stalking the sky child for a while now, watching the little pest make his way deeper into the forest grounds.<p>

His bokoblins had reported news that was...rather troubling, so of course he had interrupted his search to investigate. After some observation, he dismissed the boy as being threat, mentally noting to dispose of him at a convenient time (as well as relieve some of his stress on the interrupting bokoblin...)

But just as he extended a rather fabulous hand to snap back to his hunt for clues, it had happened.

The hilt of the boy's sword had burned a hauntingly familiar blue, one he hadn't seen since before his Master had been sealed away in the Grounds. He froze at the sight, the gesture of a snap still on his fingers. And as he watched in confusion, _she_...or something that resembled said she...flipped out from the blade.

Ghirahim gripped the column of the temple entrance, his entire system overtaken with adrenaline and shock. And then...

"Master..." he heard the sword spirit say. His heart skipped a beat, and confusion furrowed the demon's brows such an uncharacteristic address from the spirit.

"I sense the auras of monsters in the area. Please approach with caution."

He stared at this figure, this apparent ghost of his dead counterpart, an expression of shock on his regal features. But no... He had heard the shatter of her blade as she pierced his master in that last battle...had let out bloodcurdling shriek as he saw her form break...under the cover of darkness, he had crept covertly back into the battleground to find the pieces of her broken body laying in the burned remnants of the forest.

His reaction, upon realizing the little blue spirit was...well, that she was... Well, let's just say it was more than he could bear, and he had personally returned to the desert to bury the pieces, interring them on the plateau that had hosted their final dance.

So no... No, it couldn't be...and yet...

The figure resembled her so closely. But somehow lacked... _Zest_, was the most appropriate word. This spirit in the boy's sword resembled a shell of her, alike somewhat in voice and appearance, but even then, this robot-like figure seemed a far cry from the sarcastic, yet gleeful girl he had known.

The boy disappeared in the forest ahead, the sword carrying the spirit with him.

He watched him go. Then the Demon Lord snapped his fingers, disappearing in a wave of diamonds. He would keep a close eye on this sky child.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Inspired by Carito-Fox's "Just One Dance." If you haven't read it, I strongly recommend it, as it's not only one of the best Ghirafi one-shots I've read, but almost crucially complementary to this._

Chapter 2

The boy's actions strained the bounds of my demonic credulity.

There, in the chamber of the Skyview Temple, I heard the unmistakable noise of _that_ sword being drawn from its scabbard – and right in the middle of my introductory speech, no less! _Such imprudence!_ I scowled, feeling my sadistic streak rising. _**No one**__ interrupts my introductions... _Why, I had rehearsed that at least three times for this occasion! _ Memo to myself: Impart the boy with some lessons in etiquette before deafening him with the sound of his own screams._

With some irritation, I sensed the presence of the girl fading behind the secured door emblazoned with the golden image of the Triforce. How irritating those servants of the Goddess were! But I returned my attention to the teenage intruder.

"Did you just really draw your sword...? Foolish boy."

My focus suddenly shifted as my thoughts returned to the drawn blade. _But perchance..._ It occurred to me that the skybrat's rather rude interruption may not prove entirely fruitless; perhaps this could present the opportunity to better examine the sword he carried, so reminiscent of... Well. We would see.

Turning around from the golden door, I went on with my speech as if uninterrupted, continuing to play with my newfound prey before the inevitable battle...

...The boy came at me, sword flailing with a lack of finesse so embarrassing it made my gorge rise – but I capitalized upon my moment.

I cataloged his motions expertly, the angle and speed of his strike – and as the metal came down, I raised my gloved hand, easily catching the blade between my (rather perfectly formed) fingers with a metallic CLANG.

Oh, the look on the boy's face was so delightfully precious... Under any other circumstances, it would have turned my frown right upside down! But I only had a few moments before arousing the so-called hero's suspicions. With a deft movement, I wrenched the weapon from the teen's grip, directing its spin so that I caught it easily by its hilt.

Leaping back gracefully, I examined the sword in my pale grasp. Impressive... but no, this was definitely not the shattered blade I buried those centuries ago. In fact, this sword had an entirely different craftsmanship to it. How odd...

In split-seconds, I rapidly telepathed my thoughts to the spirit. Having witnessed her and the boy's interaction in the forest, I had no doubt she would receive my communications, even as the spirit remained within the weapon.

_My my...it seems the Goddess chose quite the stumbling novice as her hero, doesn't it? Maybe this will spark a new idiom – like taking a sword from a skychild. _I taunted her, deliberately baiting the entity in a manner I knew would have drawn a reaction from the feisty spirit I remembered.

I sensed surprise from the blade at my communications, and heard the voice resound in my mind.

_Demon Lord Ghirahim! _(Why, I nearly dropped the blade, in such shock that the spirit – whom I now realized I associated with as my old...compatriot – would address me by my full title. She was always so resistant to such fussy formalities.) _You return me to my Master at once!_

_'Master'...? _I telepathed. _I remember a time when you would have thanked me, relieving your blade from the grasp of such an unworthy amateur._

Confusion emanated from the sword, and the boy watched in panic as I turned the weapon over in my hand, a mere two seconds' passage in time since I removed it from his person.

_A full review of the data in my memory storage indicates I have no idea what you are talking about. _

Such unnatural language she used. But I pressed on.

_Oh, don't play coy... _I responded. _I know you know who I am. There was a time when only the best of Hylia's warriors would compete for the mere chance of wielding you – and now you lend yourself to this talentless skybrat? _I took a chance, referring to the entity by the name of the one I once knew:

_How time changes us, Fiora._

A significant silence.

I spoke to the boy as I awaited a response, laughing as I brandished his own weapon at him. "Quite the sword you have here," I approached him, raising the blade as he walked backwards defensively. "But as long as you telegraph your attacks like a novice, you won't land a blow."

The silence in my mind was broken by my actions, and I heard the sword ring with indignation at being wielded against her own swordsman. _My name is Fi... and there is an 89% chance I have no idea as to what you are referring! Release me at once! _

I felt my stomach lurch, the source something that had nothing to do with the actual battle. So it was Fi, but not Fiora now...? I mused privately, struggling with confusion at her words. I could always tell when the blue sprite was lying to me... but that's not what this sounded like.

_A gentleman never refuses the request of a lady, _I replied. I acquiesced, hurling the sword at the boy point-first, relieving some of my tension, and watching him with some amusement as he scrambled to retrieve the rather well-crafted blade.

So I wasn't entirely wrong about what I saw in the forest. It _was_ her...or at least, some skewed version of her, the name of this entity such an appropriate abbreviation of the Fiora I once knew.

So similar... Yet all wrong, somehow.

These thoughts tautened the muscles in my back, distracting me momentarily. _Perhaps –_ a surprise blow from the boy landed on my hip, drawing me rapidly from this train of thought.

I flinched backwards, feeling the adrenaline and endorphins of battle kindling my sadomasochistic flames. I smiled gleefully, licking my lips in anticipation of further bloodshed.

I drew my attention fully back to the battle at hand. There would be other opportunities to investigate this other, more personal matter.

* * *

><p>After securing the Ruby Tablet piece from the Skyview Spring, Master Link and I flew back to the statue of Hylia in Skyloft.<p>

My swordsman seemed much exhausted from his adventure, focusing on guiding his crimson bird speedily back to his home. Satisfied he was not in need of my assistance, I took the opportunity to reflect on the white demon's statements to me in the Skyview chamber.

_How time changes us, Fiora._

His words, the name he had called me struck a chord in me, awakening a memory from deep inside my consciousness...

_Fiora watched the last of the contenders, floating with some excitement as the talented swordsmen dueled with one another on the decorated battlefield, the cheering of the crowds in the background. The ten years the previous wielders were granted had expired, and it was now time for new swordsmen to be granted the spirits' weapons._

_These competitions were always an event of great importance in the kingdom, as the two sword spirits guaranteed their wielders ownership of one of the two most powerful weapons in known existence. It was a great honor to be chosen as the wielder...as well as a heavy responsibility, should conflict and battle breach the peace of Hylia's realm._

_The young warriors were chosen, despite the competition. For while it would be ten swordsmen named eligible for the opportunity to wield the swords, only two would be selected, chosen by the sword spirits themselves. At the end of the matches, the young men (and occasionally, women) would line up at the Temple of the Goddess, each coming forward try to lift one of the two swords from the pedestals. If chosen, the blade would glow, each a different color, and would slide easily out of the stone._

_Most of the knights, wise and worldly about weapons, had a particular sword in mind when they entered the competition, and tried for only one. Every competition, however, there would usually be two or three that would try their hand at the other, once rejected by his preference._

_Each sword had its unique qualities and reputation. The female blade was lighter, more tactile and easily maneuverable. She was extremely reliable, and steadfastly loyal to her chosen wielders. Many admired how easily she molded her abilities to suit the style of her chosen knight, and they often grew together in combat, both weapon and wielder._

_Her counterpart was quite the contrast. The male blade was undoubtedly more powerful, his edges carrying a fiercer bite in battle. However, the sword was rather fickle, known to exchange loyalties if he determined a more powerful swordsman was available to him. Unlike his lighter counterpart, the blade was stubborn and unyielding, forcing his swordsmen to master his required battle style. _

_The two were also reputed to have different "tastes", of sorts, in knights. The female's history revealed her to carry an affinity for a rather gentler type of swordsman; undoubtedly skilled in swordplay, but younger, typically, and reputed throughout their communities for their kindness and sense of justice._

_The male favored ambition in his knights, finding himself drawn to men who shared his lust for power, and choosing only those gifted with the abilities to seize such power. Those chosen by the darker blade always rose in the ranks quickly, and rumors held that this sudden success was spurred through the sword's assistance and counsel, as though his wielder's gain in power elevated his own._

_Upon the swords' selection, great celebrations would ensue, and the kingdom would rejoice, knowing their armies would be blessed with the gift of the sword spirits for another ten years... _

_Fiora gazed happily upon her new master, a talented young general with incredible precision and lightning-fast swordplay; the boy had seduced her with his honest heart, as well as his fierce loyalty to the Goddess and her kingdom. _

It was at this point that the memory had begun fading away in Fi's mind while she was still in the demon's grasp. If she concentrated, she could recall toward the end of the memory a male voice that seemed so familiar; it appeared to be teasing her about her selections, something about how she didn't select swordsmen, but rather fell in love with them.

It made Fi's head pound, trying to grasp the faded end of the memory. She closed her eyes, resting within her blade, confusion and an ever-growing array of questions at the edge of her consciousness...

The next time she saw the demon was at the Earth Temple. He didn't address her this time, nor did he stay to battle her master. Fi listened to his rant-like address to Master Link, rather alarmed at the pale form's violent mood swings. The demon lord seemed a bit...unhinged...at the "complications" to his plan, and something about his eloquent threats, those gentlemanly apologies after his near-psychotic outbursts tickled something in her mind, pushing the boundaries of her data frames.

Ghirahim disappeared from the sweltering heat in a flurry of diamonds, and Fi snapped into action, quickly gathering as much information she could to render an analysis of the glowing ball of magma that was now sprouting legs...

Over the next weeks of her adventures with Link, Fi experienced flashes, brief snippets of visions of another life. Nothing nearly as coherent or as linear as the first memory woken by the demon, but tiny frameshots, of the feel of water zipping across her feet as she danced in a lake foreign to her databanks, the clang of her metal in fights fit for the songs of bards, and of someone, someone she could never quite see, his image and voice always slipping just beyond her reach.

* * *

><p>In the scorched deserts of the west, Link raised the Master Sword skyward, drawing it down and plunging it into the middle of the illuminated circle. The blue-green light ascended and surrounded his trance-absorbed figure. Fi rose up from the sword, floating just above the ground to watch her master.<p>

Over the past few weeks, the adventures had brought new flashes of memory, and Fi saw each as a bright piece of a large mosaic, the larger pattern something she couldn't quite discern. She couldn't see the picture, but she knew it was of something more colorful, something with more zest than this life of calculations and responses that seemed so programmed.

She continued monitoring Link after providing him with a brief overview of the trial. It wasn't long before she heard it; a delicate trickling, like the sound of diamonds falling against one another.

She didn't turn around; she didn't need a visual, as her other senses detected the pale demon's currently benign presence standing a safe distance behind her.

The two spirits held their positions, each drinking in the presence of the other in silence.

She spoke first. Ghirahim thought that her voice, even with its somewhat robotic quality, sounded melancholy, somehow.

"You knew me, didn't you?" Her cloak-like limbs billowed slowly behind her, her stockinged feet pulled tightly together, right leg slightly bent.

A few moments' worth of hesitation. "Yes," he answered, finally. The demon's voice, so different in tone when speaking to her Master, was now quiet and serious, and uncharacteristically devoid of amusement or derision.

The blue sword spirit turned to face him, her mind, analytic even in her previous life, calculating his expression, his frame as he stood a safe distance away in an intentionally nonthreatening stance.

"How well?" Her question held something very near a demand. She examined him, about four feet away from her, the white demon's posture relaxed but straight, crimson cloak folded casually over one arm, as though briefly putting the Demon Lord persona aside for this conversation with her. He returned her gaze with slightly tilted aristocratic features, watching her with a glance half-hidden by silvery white hair.

The pale demon drew in a silent breath, purple-rimmed eyes never leaving hers. He licked his lips - not sensually or tauntingly - but pensively, as if deciding how to best phrase his answer.

"Well." He replied simply.

Fi's sensitive ears detected a noise in the desert, and she quickly turned to check on her Master. Satisfied that all was well, her floating relaxed, though she did not turn to face Ghirahim.

Her calculations told her the pale demon had moved closer, now about two paces behind her. She did not feel threatened; to the contrary, she felt quite safe, though her data banks could not give rational basis for her comfort.

"...What was I like?" Her voice was so quiet, as though by uttering it so softly, she could keep the very Goddess herself from overhearing the seemingly forbidden question.

Again, a hesitation, and when he spoke, he did so with a quiet, but fierce earnestness.

"You were magnificent."

While Fi still could not understand emotions, she had compiled enough data on her journey with the Hero to recognize them...

When she turned, her pale companion had disappeared.

...but not before she recognized something in his voice.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Reviews feed the plot bunnies! Sorry for the delay in getting this posted.<em>


	3. Forgotten Fruit

_A/N: I know this is kinda short, but I've had this ready for a while now, and was still figuring the next part out. Hopefully the substance makes up for it! _

Chapter 3

They approached the portal bearing the red beam of light.

The familiar torrents of rushing air assaulted her as Link threw himself off his crimson loftwing, but Fi barely registered the hero's selection of the destination point in Eldin's Volcano region. "Understood, Master," she answered automatically, distracted as her thoughts racing back to the last memory that had been unlocked.

It had happened when right before her swordsman had just secured one of the parts of the Hero's song from the wily Thunder Dragon, having healed the dragon-god of his illness with the fruit of life.

After planting the seedling in eons past, Link had come back through the Time Gate, turning to see the figure of Groose admiring the vision of the beautiful, fully grown tree. Returning her gaze to this remarkable piece of botany, she saw that it had dutifully bore the promised life-giving bounty.

Her master had walked up to the tree, positioning himself just underneath the branch and using his trusty Beetle to safely snip the ambrosia from its stem. Fi had watched as the orange and yellow life force dropped down into the hero's hands. Curious to analyze its properties, the the sword spirit gazed at it with interest from within her sheath.

As the spirit laid her blue gaze on the strangely familiar fruit, she felt a sudden jog in her memory. Her vision fogged over, and images filled her mind with an age long ago, before she traveled with her Skyloftian hero, dragging her back, back to a dark occasion that would lead up to the first real battles Demise's hordes would bring...

* * *

><p>"Fiora..." the pale sword spirit's voice rang through the dark, underground meadow in the Lanayru mines, keen eyes searching for his blue companion. He rounded a corner of earthen pillars, and let out an inaudible breath of relief, finding her small body still positioned in the tall-grassed corner of the glade in which he had so carefully hidden her form.<p>

"I've returned." His otherwise silken voice betrayed his concern, and he strode over to her efficiently, gracefully, his dark gray boots barely whispering as they danced through the blades of grass like the stealthy predator he was. He was wearing a silvery jumpsuit, form-fitting (and certainly, flattering), but not quite tight. His hair was parted to the side, somewhat symmetrical and even in length. He bent down to scan her for any new injuries, and he narrowed his eyes, watching her struggle to rise.

_Stubborn little sprite,_ the pale face frowned down at her from his stance above her, and even in her agony, she could detect worry creasing his brow.

Fi figured it was best not point it out, lest the rather vain entity worry about premature wrinkles.

She tried to get up again, pushing her top half off the ground when a shudder of pain immediately rippled through her small frame. She uttered a sharp cry of agony and felt her arms give way, bracing herself for the inevitable impact of her skull on hard ground.

Her blow never came, as a firm white had quickly dove to catch her head. _Goddesses, he was fast..._

She heard her slim companion snap his fingers, and with surprise, she felt her body being lifted as though by remarkably gentle invisible hands. She felt herself lowered onto a firm, yet soft surface, and she realized Ghirahim was cradling her in his lap, evidently as tender in care as he was bloodthirsty in battle.

Too exhausted to make a disparaging comment, Fi shivered again, struggling, unsuccessfully, to collect her energy enough to heal the damaged diamond in the middle of her chest.

The evil creatures were appearing more and more these days, Fi thought, recalling the skirmish the demon creatures had waged. While her spirit was strong enough to render her sword impervious to any mortal damage, her light blade tensed at the touch of true darkness, and contact with so much evil in such a short time period had devastated the female's physical form.

Strangely, her elegant pale companion seemed to have suffered no such damage, despite having been wielded in the same battle. His sword, slicing through fields of darkness, had remained unblemished.

"Be still." The natural authority in his voice, usually so annoying to the sprite, had the effect of silencing her in her current state. His voice betrayed a touch of impatience with her, and he lifted a well-formed hand to stroke the female's damp blue strands out of her ashen face.

He surveyed the damage again, feeling an icy grip in his own chest at the sight of the grievous wounds inflicted on her small body.

He drew in a breath and shook his head, and had her eyes been open, she would have been surprised at the worry reflecting back from his. "You simply can't keep slaying evil at this pace, Fiora," he murmured, and she was mildly surprised that his voice carried only concern, no insult in his tone. His fingers stroked her absentmindedly.

"Your blade can't tolerate it." His voice was only sharp in its sternness. He snapped his fingers again, summoning a satchel by his side. He had taken the glove off his right hand at some point, and he touched her lightly on her side, performing what small healing spells he had managed to master in the last year he had taken up his magical studies. He knew it wasn't going to be enough, however he had retrieved something he was sure would help.

"You..." she began, breathing the word out, and Ghirahim felt her flinch in his lap at the unfamiliar touch of magic. Her voice was strained, and for the first time since the arrogant silvery spirit had known her, he heard something akin to envy in her voice. "You didn't... have a problem." She whimpered in pain for a second, finally giving up on speech as she shivered in his lap.

He lifted his hand again, wiping some dirt off her face – he never could stand seeing her tarnished –

leaving his palm against her cheek perhaps a second longer than necessary. "It's not weakness." His tone was firm, and he continued to analyze the cracked diamond in her chest.

"Your sword's purity mirrors your spirit," he explained as he continued his preparations. His words held no admiration or compliment – and they wouldn't at this observation, she knew; he was merely explaining the facts as they were. "The metal was never tempered to tolerate such evil."

He lifted his hand with some concentration, managing to summon a heavy round item from his satchel. Her eyes cracked open, and she watched, impressed, as the fruit floated out of his bag. _He was really getting better at the whole magic thing,_ she had to admit. She could only imagine how adept he would be if he continued practicing.

"Here." The male cradled her head gently upwards, gingerly lifting a small piece of the fruit to her silvery lips.

He read the question in her eyes, a inkling of suspicion in them. _This is from the Tree of Life_, she heard him say in the privacy of her mind. Her eyes blinking open in surprise, she fixed her blue eyes on his in alarm. "How did you -" "Hush," he said, taking the opportunity to slip the wedge in her mouth.

For an instant, her soft lips touched his pale fingers.

A jolt of electricity. They both froze at the contact, memories flooding them both.

Even in her pain, a very light silvery blush swept over Fi's features – but she recovered, chewing the fruit slowly, feeling its healing life force begin spreading like sunlight's rays across her body.

Face remaining stoic, Ghirahim graciously pretended not to notice the surge of energy between the two sword spirits, and continued feeding her the pieces, watching with satisfaction as the diamond in her chest healed itself. This went on in silence until she had consumed most of the fruit.

Shoulders relaxing, the pale spirit took a deep breath, speaking slowly, sardonically, as they both rested. "Your blade isn't exactly a bane of evil." (At this point, Fi felt reassured, figuring she must really look improved now that the attitude had returned to his voice.)

He squeezed her gently, voice uncharacteristically serious, "You need to stop before you damage yourself like this again." Fi said nothing, unwillingly hearing some amount of wisdom in his words.

He saw her gazing at the satchel that had held the fruit, saw the nervous question in her eyes again.

_Don't you worry about how I...acquired that,_ he telepathed that to her, the words holding too many dangerous implications to say aloud. He felt Fi's body tense in his arms again, this time in alarm.

They both knew the Tree of Life was guarded zealously, death a consequence to anyone who dared break the law to steal the fruit which grew so slowly, so preciously and rarely in the kingdom. It was guarded by a small sentry of soldiers, each authorized to use mortal force if an intruder threatened to take a piece of the coveted fruit for his own.

Fi had known her pale counterpart had been picking up weapons of his own, in secret; the sprite had never let onto anyone that one of the two sword spirits was training himself in combat as well as magic. It was a remark on their multi-dimensioned relationship that, while she didn't approve of many things the darker sword did, it never once occurred to her to rat her counterpart out.

Her blue eyes reluctantly dragged their gaze downward, and surely enough, she detected trace amounts of what could only be the guards' blood on his boots. Her gaze did not slip the pale spirit's notice.

Ghirahim locked her gaze in his, and Fi's breath caught in her throat at his sudden intensity. He shook his head slowly at her, deliberately, and his voice surprised her in its fierce possessiveness:

"No one will take you from me. Not even death."

It wasn't a worry; he stated it as though it was a solid, indisputable fact, an utterance which he would not allow anyone to contest.

Fi slowly released the breath she had been holding. The small sprite felt the last of her injuries healing, and she continued looking up at the face of her companion, who gazed back without a hint of apology in his eyes. His silvery features, illuminated by the natural light flowing through the cavern, briefly distracted her from the matter at hand. _He's so beautiful, _she thought, perhaps inappropriately, given the gravity of his confession.

He would always be beautiful, she knew. Like a dark angel fallen from grace, retaining his heavenly visage even with the blood of innocents on his hands.

She continued watching her fellow sword, analyzing his lack of regret at his murderous actions to save her. And as he lowered his face to hers, pausing only briefly for a sign of her acquiescence, she began to understand why the contact with demons hadn't damaged his blade...

* * *

><p>An ear-punishing rumble filled the air, and violent vibrations assaulted the hero and his sword as he fell into the Volcano region.<p>

Fi was snapped out of her thoughts. Assessing in her surroundings, her calculating mind immediately understood what had happened.

A blazing blast of heat jolted the boy, and Fi screamed silently within the blade while the boy's weapons, herself included, tumbled to the surface with him, the lighter equipment scattering across the land in the scalding blasts.

Guilt seized the spirit of the Master Sword as they fell – if only she hadn't been daydreaming! She had noticed the water that had filled the forest when they'd needed audience with the water dragon - if only she'd been paying attention just now, she'd have been able to warn her master of the volcano's imminent eruption.

Fi willed her sheath's straps to remain fast on her swordsman's back as they continued spiraling erratically down into the burning heat. With whatever remained of Link's consciousness, he desperately tugged the sailcloth's direction away from the magma, and Fi recognized with a wave of dread the area which was fast hurtling towards them: The Bokoblin camps of the Eldin region.

When Fi opened her eyes, she realized with horror that critical minutes had passed since their violent crash landing.

The impact had been savage; a virtual crater scarring the hot earth, but a quick analysis of the young swordsman revealed that - while seriously injured, and with a 94% likelihood of having sustained serious internal injuries - Link was still alive.

Upon observing the filthy red creature that was now pawing all over her sheath, Fi didn't dare calculate the odds of him remaining that way.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Okay, seriously, I *can't* have been the only one during the Volcano eruption that was like, WTF, Fi, you need to tell me when shit like this is about to go down! A'hem...__Kinda fluffy, which is new for me. I really appreciate reviews, they keep me going late at night when hounded by plots involving the Fabulous Lord Ghirahim._

_Shout outs!_

_Carito-Fox: Thank you so much for your advice! I'm taking your advice, and working on taking my time with transitional segments. _

_LeilaEditer: Aw, thank you. I'm really glad other GhiraFi shippers are enjoying this!_

_Princess Zora: *blush* Thank you. I have read that fic, I'm still not sure how I'm going to end this, but that type of ending seems pretty canonical, so it's not out of realm of possibility._

_Vembra Isles: Thank you so much for your reviews on my SS stories! It means a lot that my writing here enticed you into reading another piece. *sends love and sugar cookies*_


	4. Beating the Odds

_A/N: Horribly short, I know. It's been a while since I posted another chapter, and I wanted to at least give you guys something that I had ready to :_

_A/N 2: No, PrincessZora, you weren't the flame! ^_^ I loved your question._

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Well, I have to admit, I rather underestimated the fire dragon's resilience. I really thought I had the uncooperative beast cornered, at least enough to begin...utilizing persuasive means, shall we say... to influence the divine creature into divulging information regarding the second Time Gate.

Well, I didn't quite anticipate he would resort to such means, which were rather dramatic even for my theatrical tastes.

The rumbling that filled the fire dragon's chambers instantly alerted me to the volcano's imminent eruption. I scowled in irritation. Well, if the fire beast wanted to flood his own chamber with the destructive magma, that was his own business, but I certainly wasn't going to linger long enough to risk any _more_ scorch marks to my favorite pair of gloves.

I stood in the trembling chamber, maintaining my balance while clutching the burn on my right bicep. I glared and addressed the dragon, who floated near the ceiling, appearing in some sort of trance as firey sparks burst from his figure. "This isn't over, Eldin!" I shouted up. "I'll drop by for another visit soon, shall I?" Grinning, I snapped my fingers and disappeared with my signature flair.

I teleported out of the area, materializing in another part of the region that I knew would be relatively unaffected by the eruption.

I ignored the keese and other creatures that promptly evacuated the area upon my arrival, and I began pacing around the cavern, mentally poring over the clues I had picked up surrounding the Time Gate's location. The destructive blasts served as delightful background music to my musings, and I was somewhat disappointed when the annihilative noises began to dissipate.

Giving a sigh at my dead end, I rubbed a temple with a gloved index finger and resolved to check-in with my demonic minions for updates on the Hero's activities.

I left the cavern, still lost in my musings, intending on paying a visit to the local Bokoblin camps. Although I could have teleported there in an instant, I found walks rather meditative, so I made my way to the location on foot, my polished grace easily avoiding rocks and ridges that littered the red earth.

I hadn't gone more than twenty minutes when a series of angry grunts pulled me out of my thoughts.

I narrowed my eyes, directing my gaze to the direction of the rather uncouth utterances. _What in the Realm...?_

A wave of annoyance rapidly overtook me, as I realized I was staring at what appeared to be two of my servants fighting over some object that had probably come from the eruption.

My eyelid twitched, and I rubbed a pale temple furiously as I felt what was sure to be the beginnings of a migraine approaching.

I strode, quite stealthily, over to the bokoblins, and stood silent sentinel a few feet away from them, my arms crossed, feeling my irritation of the day begin pulsing dangerously from me in angry waves, which were beginning to increase exponentially. I couldn't quite see what they were fighting over, and it wasn't until my minions realized (with no small amount of terror) my presence that I got a good look at the object, which was long, slim, and wrapped up in some kind of cloth.

The who appeared to be trying to wrest the object away from the other saw me first. His eyes widened with horror, and he immediately let go, sending the other to the ground with a bounce. "My lord!" he squeaked, and immediately threw himself on the ground in a strange imitation of a bow.

The other red creature, having twitched his head around from the the dirt to determine the cause of the interruption, immediately let out a terrified grunt, and followed suit.

My fingers tapped against my crossed arms as I glared down upon the pathetic creatures, my pale form towering above them.

"Performing your duties quite inexorably, I see," I voiced quietly, dangerously, feeling my temper rising with each syllable I uttered. The creatures were quite stupid, no doubt, but even they had been graced by natural selection with some amount of key survival instinct. They lay prostrated on the ground, quaking, and their pitiful actions only spurred my temper, already pushed perilously close to breaking by the day's failures.

"My lord..." the other began in apology, the long wrapped object still in hand. "We didn't...I mean..."

I felt my eye twitch at the sound of creature's rather obnoxious voice, and I'm afraid I indulged. I snapped my fingers, and immediately felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. I watched with a small satisfaction as the creature wheezed, feeling his throat begin constricting as a diamond linked chain snatched around its throat.

"I can't have my servants neglecting their duties..." I spoke calmly, soothingly as the creature's face contorted into a hideous shade of purple.

His compatriot watched on in aghast, silent audience; he didn't even blinking when his unfortunate companion dropped his parcel to flail desperately at the chain which was rapidly cutting off the blood supply to his meager brain.

"We each have a purpose, a function in this life," I continued, slowly, watching the ugly beast's eyelids begin drooping as the chains cut into its flesh."Your function is simply to serve me... We must not allow ourselves to neglect our assigned duties."

The bokoblin finally lost consciousness, dropping to the floor, and I snapped my fingers, allowing the chain to disappear shortly before he was killed of oxygen and blood deprivation. He would not dawdle again.

I turned my attention to his companion, and I tilted my head, amused at the look of terror dressing the remaining bokoblin.

"You." I extended an elegant hand toward the rather depressing figure. He flinched, cowering with his hands over his eyes. "Bring that object here," I commanded casually.

Trembling, the pathetic being slowly picked up the parcel, and my eyes narrowed, suddenly aware of the familiar energy emanating from the wrapped object even as guilt began entering the creature's eyes.

As he came nearer, my eyebrows shot open in surprise, recognizing the item, not by its size, but by the aura surrounding it. _She feels different..._ was my split-second thought before I acted.

I leaped forward, startling the squealing creature, and promptly tore her from the unworthy beast's disgusting grip. The bokoblin crashed into the rock wall behind it, cast forward by a blast of magic I had propelled in my fury.

"A lowly creature like you has no business sullying a creation like this," I hissed, striding forward. "Tell me where you found this!" I demanded, sword in hand, and slapping the groggy creature back into consciousness.

It muttered rather incoherently for a short while, but I understood the stupid beast, and it was only the cognizance of my sword companion's presence that kept me from screaming in rage at the news.

"Get back to your post!" I hissed harshly. I turned away from the creature, raising my fingers in a gesture of a snap to teleport away from the area. "And may Hylia help you if I find you've let the boy escape from his confines!"

* * *

><p>Once in a rare while, I find that circumstances I have carefully analyzed sometimes do not yield the results expected from my statistical calculations. For instance, there had been only an 11% probability of my blade ending up in Ghirahim's possession immediately following the eruption, or so I had calculated when the first bokoblin picked me up from the ground.<p>

This was surely not a good time to have "beaten the odds", as that mortal expression goes.

Upon my capture by the bokoblin, I immediately reasoned that it was best not to draw too much attention to myself, determining there was a better chance of my Master reclaiming me if the unintelligent creatures were not aware of the magical abilities the sword possessed. Certainly, even their obtuse logic may have concluded I was of some importance if they saw my spirit leap out from the blade... and there was an 93% chance they would have thought it wise to report the situation to their Lord. To Ghirahim. If only for fear of suffering debilitating pain should he discover the omission.

With some disapproval, I was able to calculate that their fears were very well substantiated.

Truthfully, the idea of seeing Ghirahim like this gave me mixed thoughts, but if there was any good that came out of the awful eruption that left my master imprisoned at the mercy of those awful beasts, it was the steadfast knowledge that I had to focus on the mission. On Link. On recovering Zelda.

I couldn't let these memories impact my Master's journey any more than they already had. My Master could have perished in that eruption because of my momentary distraction; I would not allow anything like that to happen again, I vowed, as the grunting creature swung me around haphazardly, making itself quite dizzy in the process.

Unfortunately, that 11% probability had come to fruition.

I felt his energy before the creatures fighting over me did. I observed the rest of the incident quietly from within the sack I had been wrapped in, and it is with disapproval that I admit that I felt a strange jolt go through my metal at the familiar feeling of his hand wrenching me from the grip of the unintelligible creatures.

He had always been possessive, I remembered. I remembered rather a lot of things, now.

I calculated by the high temperatures that, after his last direction to the red beast, we had teleported to some other location in the volcano.

There was something gentle about his touch as he removed the cloth from around me. He was standing in an earthen chamber lit by two torches, holding by blade balanced on the palms of his hands.

I heard him clear his throat.

I was able to determine by this action that he wished me to grant him audience, perhaps by presenting myself in front of him. I immediately set about determining the possible situations such actions might lead to, and I was still going through my analyses when he spoke again.

"It's rather rude to forgo thanking one's rescuer."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Again, sorry for the short chapter! I haven't decided what I wanted the tone for their next encounter to be, and I really don't want to force something. _

_I appreciate you guys' (gals'? Doubt many guys reading this) patience! Also, thank you for the reviews! Also, first flame! W00t!_

_Shout-outs:_

_Princess Zora: Good questions. _

_1. I don't have an update schedule, I mainly write when inspiration strikes. I usually don't write much fanfiction anymore, but these ideas ideas hit me, and I thought I'd give it another shot. _

_2. I see GhiraFi and GhiraLink as two completely different types of ships. My GhiraLink preferences feature stories that are darker, with the passion being based on obsession and lust, with some underlying BDSM themes. I don't see Ghirahim capable of being "in love" with Link, really, or them having any kind of healthy relationship. In contrast, I see GhiraFi as having potential for something a bit more pure. I think Ghirahim would see Fi as more of an equal, an entity he can admire, both for her own attributes, as well as for the qualities in himself that she mirrors by virtue of being a sword spirit to a beautiful, powerful sword. An almost Narcissus-like type of affection. I think he could be capable of approaching something like love with her. _

_I don't really know if I prefer one or the other. GhiraFi makes me feel all soft, sweet and fluffy, and it's interesting seeing the different interactions Ghirahim would be capable of when interacting with her._

_On the other hand, Ghiralink enthralls me with how passionately twisted and dark it can get. _

_I updated He Returns to him in Battle other one faster, or appearing to, because most of the story was already written. This one, I'm still not sure how I want it to get where I want it to go. _

_Anithene: Thank you! I try to keep them resembling their canon personalities as much as possible. It's just hard, putting them in...these situations, sometimes. Especially working with Fi, since I'm allowing her to see these emotional memories from her past, while at the same time, trying to work with an entity that doesn't understand emotions in the present._

_Yaphi: Thank you! I hope I can get the next bit up soon. _

_Carito-Fox: I hope so! I want more Ghirafi from you, damnit! :) Yeah, it was weird writing gentle Ghirahim. I tried to keep him possessive about the whole thing, though._

_TwiliRupee: Aww, well, I hope you read some good fics with this ship! There are definitely some out there. *please see author who reviewed above you for excellent GhiraFi*_

_Jadus: I didn't go back to try to figure out what rhyming you were referring to, but it was definitely unintentional. And it's strange that you're reading a Ghirahim fic if you're bothered by egos. o.O_

_LeilaEditer: Thank you! Again, I'm sorry this bit was kind of short, but I hope to get something more substantial up soon. _


	5. Volcano

Chapter Five

I left my blade with an easy azure somersault, straightening my floating figure in midair. I let my cloaked appendages swim gently in the air as I took in his appearance.

He had the cloak back on, I noticed, and his shoulders seemed stiffly stationed. I immediately recognized he was under some sort of tension unrelated to our current encounter.

In a fluid motion, Ghirahim transferred the blade from the balance between his gloved hands, and swung it in a downward arc, placing it under the crook of his arm, holding it by its hilt. He was watching me with a studious expression that held no taunt, examining my form; I could detect the subtle glaze of recollection shimmering over his brown eyes.

I knew he was waiting for an answer.

I gave him a fact – a reliable concrete fact, appearing so deceptively innocuous in the telling revelations that drowned it. "Your magic has improved," I commented.

He arched an eyebrow just the slightest, and I could feel the intelligent mind behind his gaze grasp swiftly upon the connotations, seizing on the logical inferences that followed it.

He lifted his chin by just the slightest degree, and seemed to shift his weight so he was leaning back on his booted heels while he observed me.

My expressionless eyes watched him, and I waited, the unknown variables of the ages, the events that had passed since our association so long ago muddling the accuracy of my calculations predicting his response.

The smallest of a smile flickered a cross his silvery lips, and I could see the question he wasn't voicing written plainly in his purple-rimmed gaze. _ ..._But he didn't ask.

He easily swung the blade up to rest back on his palms, and he turned it over carefully in his gaze, with the similar grace of a cleric handling a blessed relic.

Ghirahim took in the changes since he had first handled the sword in the Skyview Temple. I watched him test its sharpness, saw his fingers delicately stroke the purple wings that had replaced its previous teal hilt, and saw his eyes rake the lengthened stature of the blade. Above all, the way he directed it away from his sleek pale form confessed he sensed the holy energy of the Goddesses emanating from its metal.

"I see you no longer have issues slicing through the handmaids of evil." His tone was easy, though it did not escape my notice that he was studying my glassy features, looking for some signal that betrayed the extent to which I'd recovered my memory.

He continued while I was considering his words.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowed behind his silky white bangs, no longer bothering to mask his confusion. "How is it possible...?" he murmured, asking himself more than addressing me.

His eyes caught mine again, and I felt his mind attempting to pierce my own. "You died," he began, and the words came so slowly, even while they increased in volume. His weight shifted backward gracefully, and I could see the puzzlement behind his eyes.

"I heard your blade shatter." He stated harshly, quietly, eyes glancing from the foreign blade back to me. The energy around us rose, and I recognized the flare in his temper as he continued, felt his grip tighten around the blade.

"I found your broken form laying like so many shards of glass in the burnt remnants of forest..." He cut himself off, and there was something in his voice, a distinct emotion I was attempting to recognize.

His next words came out in a hiss.

"I _buried _you."

My calculations arriving at a conclusion: Betrayal, I realized, served as the biting edge that bordered his words.

I remained floating motionless, and I saw frustration beginning to seep into his aristocratic features at my lack of response. He turned from me, an elegant spin that placed a pace between us.

His next words caused an energy to press against my analytic composure, an unknown force that nearly pierced through the logical calm that was my homeostasis.

"From all I've seen of you, spirit, I'm beginning to believe once more that she did perish in that battle."

His words struck me like a physical blow. And I felt a rush, a flash of recollection overtaking my consciousness. A blinding laceration, an excruciating pain as my very soul was eternally severed from the blade into which I was born. A last image, of my broken former body laying shattered, irreparably destroyed and now vacant of the life form that had inhabited it.

When I blinked, I saw he had turned in my direction, sensing a silent intensity as the memory of my original sword rippled throughout my consciousness. I remembered, more fully now...

There, again, an unrecognizable force threatening to press in on my composed state of being. I could feel it hammering at me, pounding against the walls of my calm.

I turned my head up to his, seeing expectation in his dark irises.

I whispered one word.

"Where?" If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought I detected...something...in my voice.

The Demon Lord's his facial muscles seemed to relax, his posture took on its easy, natural poise. He took several silent steps toward me, his movements that of a stealthy, prowling predator examining its target.

I could feel his grip tighten ever so slightly against my hilt, and I began considering the prudence of devising a method to cause him to relinquish possession of the blessed instrument.

He was close to me, I realized, perhaps a foot within my personal space. I watched him, a carefully guarded mask setting over his expression.

His words were calculated, I knew, and I wondered if he fully realized just how many memories his actions and statements had unlocked. His words came slowly, his tone a misleadingly low, casual timbre that was feigned. "In a plateau in the Lanayru desert, within sight of the Temple of Time and the desert mountain range."

My vision faded to a blackness that yielded fleeting images of a pale blue entity in the shape of a young woman, dancing, spinning with a tall, graceful white figure, twirling in an exquisite combination of ballet and more formal dances. For a few seconds, I heard beautiful notes, and realized the young woman was singing.

I now saw the same tall white figure standing directly in front of me, and I saw a slight satisfaction in his still wistful brown eyes. "So you do remember," he said lightly, quietly. His words were gentler, and I realized by the small smirk on his face that he looked rather pleased with himself. I frowned.

"I remember quite a lot of things, now." My voice was calm, a fact that was comfortable, reliable in this moment where uncertainty pounded on the jade border around my consciousness.

I inhaled deeply, spewing more unwavering, reliable facts.

"It was my fate to die in that battle." I paused, and he continued watching me, his closeness beginning to border on the unnerving. "But I...wasn't ready."

His eyes narrowed, puzzlement ebbing as he gazed once again at the holy blade in his hands, then back at my spirit, the purest of the two that inhabited the Goddess's realm.

I saw the evidence of realization dawning on his expression, and our sentences welded together as if in a smooth soliloquy. "Hylia..." he muttered disdainfully.

"She forged a holy blade."

"After the battle...?" his eyes raised to capture my own.

"...I offered anything."

A flash of energy. I felt an instance of dread, born from an old familiarity with this creature's unpredictable variances in temper. His grip tightened on the blade, and I drew in a sharp breath, feeling his temper zenith. With a shiver, I sensed his blood, dark and rich, beginning to stain the metal on my sword.

His voice carried within it endless depths of anger and betrayal:

"You gave her _everything_."

I blinked, my instincts flaring a second too late -

He had always been fast, I remembered. I felt him seize the back of my neck, not threateningly, but with a passionate violence, and even as I struggled to float backwards, I felt the familiar energy of his magic pulse over my spirit in waves, nearly paralyzing me in their intensity.

I felt a coldness seize my chest. _ It's only an illusion_, I knew, a mere visual projection of the entity in his memory.

I looked down at my cloaked appendages, but I saw arms, instead, surrounded by a blue cloak, a pale yet humanlike tinge to what appeared to be soft skin. _It's only an illusion, _ I reminded myself, seeing strands of shoulder length blue hair brushing my petite shoulders.

Instead of floating, my heeled boots lay firmly on the ground, my legs decorated with blue and purple stockings, laced with an intricate cross-stitch pattern. I was taller now, in the optical mirage of my previous form, but I still had to look up to meet his eyes.

And I saw the look in them, the storm of passions, violence, anger, sadness, possession, and greed shimmer. His grip on my neck loosened, and he smoothly stepped closer, and I stiffened, feeling his breath ghosting over my features. The violence in his eyes ebbed, and nostalgia eclipsed his features.

Up close, a familiar realization danced through my mind.

_He's still beautiful,_ I thought, watching Ghirahim, the blood of tens of thousands of innocents now on his hands.

He's beautiful, I knew, even as he continued in his quest to destroy everything that was good and holy, everything my master and I were striving to achieve.

He would always be beautiful, this fallen angel looking at me with an unmatched, passionate zeal that I knew was overwhelmingly selfish in nature.

His lips were close now, nearly upon mine, and I stayed so still, so incredibly still as his presence overtook me, drowning me in a sea of memories that slowly pulled my eyes shut. His hand felt firm, cool and familiar, and for an instant, his warm breath that wafted on my lips made me remember what it was like to _feel... _

I leaned forward, enchanted by this sensation, drawn forward by this clue that promised the key behind the steel locks still guarding my memory...

He retracted his hand. The illusion broke, and I found myself floating in the air again, some distance between me and the pale spirit. I felt dizzy, discomposed by the transformative effect.

My eyes snatched up at him in question, but even as I did so, I heard a slight impact, felt a jolt in my spirit. I realized he had thrust the blade into the soft ground, releasing it with a violent charge.

"I'm afraid I have to run, _Fi." _ He had replaced the space between us, and was watching me with his cloak thrown over one shoulder, stance effortlessly balanced and poised. "Your charming young swordsman remains in the hands of my servants, and while they are..." he paused, raising a carefully gloved, fisted hand, as if to study the outline of his fingers through the thin material. "Exceedingly loyal in their terror, they are, regretfully, not the most capable of minions."

Just like that, it was like our moment had never happened. He stood there, watching me with a rather aloof expression, rather much like one he would adopt when regarding my master.

The unrecognizable force attacked my jaded composure again, but this time, it found a crevice, a fissure of vulnerability.

I exhaled a sharp breath, and I stared down at my chest, half-expecting to see some wound, some other visible sign of the pang I felt in my chest.

It _hurt,_ I realized.

I looked back up at the pale spirit, who appeared to be hesitating before his departure, a look of consideration half-hidden behind his pale bangs.

A war, behind his eyes, a bloody battle that was slowly producing a victor. He shook his head, and extended a flexible leg toward the exit.

He spoke as if to reassure himself. "I'll ensure my minions do not disturb you while I'm gone..." Apparently changing his train of thoughts, I watched as his silvery lips curved into a cruel smile; he flashed me a look of violent delight that left me greatly concerned, instantly understanding that its foreboding threat held no danger toward me.

"But in the meantime, I think I'll go pay your adorable boy a little visit."

I watched as he disappeared, immediately ignoring the lingering pain in my chest to begin running analyses on my current environment.

Eldin was nearby, I knew, I could feel his majestic presence radiating from a chamber nearby. Thoughts of my master returned, and with some surprise, I felt a different kind of sensation, this time a shifting discomfort radiating from my abdomen, as I began speculating on possible scenarios that would ensue upon Ghirahim's _visit _to my master.

Apparently, the demon unlocked more than just my memories.

I let my thoughts return to the illusion he created, that moment when I had leaned toward him, following intuition against the insistent indignation of my better judgment.

I thought back to the storm in his brown irises, the passionate waves that crashed against one another as they regarded me.

He was beautiful, I knew, the pale sword spirit that had once doted on me, this dark entity that remained fiercely possessive of my form.

He would always be beautiful; no matter how many times his dark ambitions and malicious intentions would devastate me.

I heard a series of explosions, and I heard sounds of a skirmish nearby. I recognized the cries and familiar sounds of my young swordsman.

I didn't dare estimate the levels of Ghirahim's rage when he discovered my master's escape.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Urgh, didn't have enough time to edit this... I promise I'll respond to reviews in the next chapter! Please Read/Review!_


End file.
